Wednesday, November 10, 2010

This post on Just B. inspired me today. It is a lovely showcase of 60s glamour, highlighting everything great about Schiaparelli pink, sparkles and 1960s costume jewelry. Is there anything more delightfully girly than pink cake, tiaras and glitter, glitter, glitter?

Like cake, glitter is so pretty to look at, and so unjustifiably decedent. It is junkfood–but maybe you love it, still. Glitter is a divisive accoutrement.

Growing up my friends and I were specifically aware of the girls who embraced glitter v. everyone else. We called the devout "glitter girls." Glitter girls were the ones who, like twitching addicts, had to constantly find new ways to get their sparkle fix. In grade school they coveted the huge shaker jars of glitter in art class and experimented with gateway glitter lipgloss and glittery Lisa Frank stickers. By middle school they were hooked on glitter bedecked clothing, nail polish and eyeshadow. During puberty most glitter girls discover body glitter, they often have to take part-time jobs in high school to support their need for the finest mica powders.

Glitter is a commitment, a lifestyle. While I was never a full-fledged glitter girl, I've often had to remove contact sparkles picked up from friends. One such friend bought me a glitter-adorned concert T-shirt. Years and years after getting rid of the thing, I was still finding traces of glitter on myself and everything I owned.

No amount of laundering can remove it. You can shower 7 times a day, vacuum 12, you can move, but glitter is persistent–it can only be passed on to others. It takes years to escape glitter.

Today I'm finally glitter free but, strangely, when I see those sparkles I kind of miss it.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Piperlime, from the mass-market behemoth behind the Gap and Banana Republic, likes to send me promotional emails. Always heavy on Rachel Zoe and style-less shoes worn by dental hygienists who just don't care anymore, they remind me how much I prefer Amazon's targeted promotions.

Today, I thought they might have sent an email promoting something that actually appealed to me. I had to look past the prominently-featured cargo leggings, but there it was: faux-fur boots. I can't say that I'd seriously been in the market for fur boots of any kind. But I do have a fondness for faux fur, especially as opposed to real fur. Unfortunately, not all of these boots were what was advertised.

Under the Faux Fur heading were several pairs of sheepskin boots. For those unaware, sheepskin is made from the skin of a sheep. The real skin of a non-faux sheep. Sad. So sad that I had to buy a pair of boots from another online store. Yup, I had to buy them.

On the other end of the online shopping spectrum is Moxie, the place to buy fashion from independent designers. While browsing their site, I stumbled upon their clever and carefully curated themed collections. This one is inspired by the movie Clueless. Brilliant. I never would have looked for that, but there it was and it made me smile.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Note: This post was composed last week, before the flood. Today, Nashville is underwater. This isn't at all the time to invest a lot of energy in thinking about what to wear to some horsey event. Really. If you do attend Steeplechase this year, the best fashion choices might be the work boots you wore while volunteering earlier in the day, and a hat to cover your water-conservation hair.

There's something to be said for the spunk needed to dress as you like, no matter the occasion. Unfortunately, in Nashville that tends to mean relaxed-fit jeans at the Opera rather than cocktail hats at The Melrose–the extreme casual usually beats the creatively overdressed in this town. Thank goodness for Steeplechase: one of the very few opportunities where the not-so-sartorially-rebellious can don a dress hat and not look mentally ill.

Step Forward, Stepford

Thursday, January 21, 2010

I have no place in my life for anything with the modifier "everyday" attached.
Everyday underwear and everyday dishes, I have no time for you.

Last I checked every day was inclusive of today, and what if I die today?
I refuse to go out in white cotton panties, sipping some innocuous something from a mug with the words Pottery Barn stamped on the bottom. No way.